


Schrödinger's speedboat

by AnythingButPink



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Eventual Smut, First Kiss, M/M, post Yverdon-les-Bains
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-06
Updated: 2013-07-06
Packaged: 2017-12-17 22:02:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/872440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnythingButPink/pseuds/AnythingButPink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's the day after Martin's interview with Swiss Air and a certain sky god may hold the answers to everyone's happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Schrödinger's speedboat

**Author's Note:**

> Apart from the typing-words-on-a-keyboard thing, everything about this is new to me... Comments (and corrections) most welcome.

Martin pulled the bedclothes closer round him. It was cold and dark in his attic and although he didn't need to be at the airfield for the cargo flight to Malta for another three hours, there was no chance that he was going to get any more sleep.

He had slept badly, his lie the day before playing on his conscience, and his subconscious hadn't helped by filling any quiet mental spaces with awkward questions about why he wasn't grabbing the Swiss Air job with both hands.

Loyalty was part of the answer. Definitely. In spite of everything MJN was a family of sorts and if he left, that would be the end of it. Carolyn would never be able to find another 'free' pilot to keep the company afloat. ****

Fear was another part. God knows there was nothing he wanted more than to fly, and now he had the chance to become a truly professional pilot, move out of this awful attic and stop treating jacket potatoes as a culinary treat; but he was scared. Not scared of flying planes that wouldn't know gaffer tape if they carried it as cargo, not even scared of giving up his captain's hat and treasured fourth stripe, but scared of ridicule.

He imagined Douglas scoffing at the very idea. His first officer had been making fun of him since day one. The mighty sky god had left no stone unturned in his efforts to belittle his captain. Martin shifted uncomfortably on the too-thin mattress. No, that wasn't true. There were some things even Douglas wouldn't stoop to mocking.

And lately, he'd been, well, kind. Admittedly he was still the man with at least seven ulterior motives at any one time, of which number one remained ensuring the happiness of Douglas Richardson, but still. He had turned his Douglasness on Simon (and his moustache) and had helped Martin prepare for the SA interview. And, to be fair to the man, Martin knew deep in his heart that when Douglas did take aim at him, he had almost always handed him the ammunition himself. Though he remained baffled by what Douglas had meant by muttering about “Schrödinger's speedboat” in the arrivals hall at Yverdon.

A pool of warmth gathered low in his abdomen and he cursed himself for allowing his mind to linger too long on Douglas.

Far below, he heard the toilet flush as the first of the students began their day. A cool grey light was starting to creep into the small room. Martin curled himself up to keep warm and tried, once again, to imagine life beyond MJN.

He still wouldn't get first crack at the cheese tray. But there would be slightly better accommodation and no more Surprising Rice. He heard Douglas's warm baritone inside his head, “Major airline recruiting just down the road from your girlfriend? Too good a chance to miss”, and remembered his own yelped “She's not my girlfriend!” and blushed. Theresa was … nice and it made a pleasant change not to have an invitation to Duxford turned down, but he could see in her eyes that while she enjoyed his company, this wasn't a _grand passion_ for her. Which was something of a relief, because the feeling, or lack of it, was definitely mutual. No, a move to Zurich would leave him approximately 700 miles away from the object of his affection, not 50.

He closed his eyes and saw Douglas's tanned hands firm on Gerti's controls, dark eyes fixed firmly ahead, thighs slightly parted... he stretched his own legs out and reached down to stroke his growing erection. A soft sigh escaped his lips before a sharp knock on his door made him pull his hand swiftly out of his pyjama bottoms and sit up sharply, cheeks flushed red.

“Y-y-yes? Hello?” he said.

The door opened and Jenny poked her head in. “There's a man here to see you.”

“A man?” Martin's forehead creased in a frown. “Who is it?”

“Said he's your 'fairy godmother',” replied Jenny with a raised eyebrow and a smile. “Shall I send him up?”

“Well, wh-what's he look like?” There weren't many people who knew where Martin lived, a description should narrow it down.

“Handsome, middle-aged, charming, voice like an M&S advert...” said Jenny.

Oh god! thought Martin. “Um, right,” he said in his best panicky-not-panicking voice, “tell him I'll be down in a minute.”

Jenny did her best not to laugh at him. “Okay,” she said, “I'll make him a cup of tea while you sort yourself out.”

The moment the door shut behind her, Martin threw himself out of bed and at the tiny sink in the corner. Washed and with teeth brushed, he pulled on jeans and a thin, chocolate-brown jumper. He was just hunting for a clean pair of socks when there was a second rap on the door. Martin startled and banged his head.

“Ow!”

“Oh dear,” the warm brown voice poured through the now-opened door, “sorry about that. I didn't realise I could be so alarming.”

Martin raised his head to see a familiar face, complete with quirked eyebrow and wry smile and froze in shock.

“Ah,” said Herc, “you were expecting someone else perhaps?”

Martin's cheek flushed redder than ever. “N-n-no,” he stammered, “I was just about to come downstairs. I don't really entertain visitors...” he gestured at his cramped quarters.

“Hmm,” said Herc. “You know, Martin, if I hadn't already met Arthur I would have to say you are the worst liar I have ever met.” He beamed generously at the younger man. He held up one hand to stop Martin's attempts at speech and placed the other on his shoulder to gently seat him on the bed.

There was a single chair tucked neatly under a small desk at the other end of the room. Herc grabbed it and placed it in front of Martin before sitting down.

“Now, I would say I don't understand why you're not grabbing SA's job offer with both hands,” he said. “But, as it happens I understand completely. Some of us have to go on courses on understanding people in Ipswich, and some of us are born naturally intuitive. I am, thankfully, in the latter camp – Ipswich not being on my list of 100 places to go before I die – and so I am in a position to reassure you with regards to the three things holding you back.”

“Three?” asked Martin.

“Yes. Three.” Herc leaned back on the uncomfortable plastic chair, thought better of it and sat up again. “Listen, MJN does not have to suffer if you leave. It's true that Carolyn couldn't find another pilot willing to fly Gerti for free purely for the love of flying. She could however, find one willing to fly for the love of Carolyn.”

“Oh,” breathed Martin. “Even after Finn McCool the Third?”

Herc winced. “Yes. Even after that.” He glanced down at the signet ring on Martin's finger and a faint smile crossed his lips. “Secondly, Swiss Air is not like MJN. You'll be fine. You'll become a better pilot. You will have a captain to look after you and cabin crew that actually resemble the crews in the manuals. It will be the making of you Martin.”

“Really? Right. Fine … fine … okay.”

“Now, the third thing.”

Martin frowned. He had no idea what the third thing holding him back could be.

“How can I put this?” said Herc. He stared out of the attic's small window at the brightening dawn for a moment. “Sky gods aren't always what they seem, Martin. They are exceptionally gifted at many things, naturally, but perhaps their chief talent is maintaining the illusion that nothing gets under their skin.”

He leaned forward and placed a hand on Martin's shoulder, “Remember, even sky gods are human, Martin. With human feelings and human desires.”

Martin's eyes widened and he started to lean away from Herc.

Herc laughed, “Just tell him, Martin. I promise you the terror will be worth it. I mean, I've never let the old devil seduce _me_ , but his reputation does precede him and as you know there aren't many things he's _not_ good at.”

Martin stared at Herc in a daze, contemplating the implications of taking his advice, before startling in terror again. “You haven't, um, told Carolyn about the job offer, have you?”

“No, Martin. And if you do reject my frankly excellent advice, your secret will be safe with me. But, really. You should take the job. And you should take the rest of my advice too.”

Herc looked at his watch. “I'd better go. You have a job to do and I have a flight to Zurich to catch.” He stood up and offered Martin his hand. “Good luck,” he said and walked out of the room.

***

Martin sat in stunned silence. Herc was willing to save MJN. He thought Martin should go to Swiss Air. And he thought, he thought … he thought Douglas might be interested in Martin.

A thrill of excitement ran up his spine turning into a judder of fear as it reached his brain. But how could _he_ , Martin, seduce a sky god like Douglas? It was impossible.

He took and a deep breath and sighed. Two out of three wouldn't be bad. And at least if he didn't have to spend hours locked in a confined space, breathing in that musky scent, watching those dextrous fingers, hearing his toasted honey voice, perhaps he could get over him. And fall for someone who was actually in his league – like the princess of Lichtenstein...

***

“So, they say I can start in June,” he bumbled on, “and I know it's not great for you guys, but I was thinking that perhaps if you asked Herc, he might be happy to help out a bit until you can find a replacement, so you know, you don't have to close...” Martin petered out under Carolyn's gaze.

“Well,” she said, “I'm delighted that Swiss Air had the good sense to snap you up. Obviously we'll be very sorry to see you go – free pilots don't grow on trees – but as we are only one more goose smoothie from disaster anyway, I'm pleased to have one less employee to worry about.

“Have you told Douglas yet?”

“No,” he said warily, “I thought it was protocol to tell my employer first.”

“Well, tell him tonight. You can buy dinner on my card as a leaving present. Should soften the blow. There's a sushi place in St Julian's that will knock his socks off...”

“Umm,” hummed Martin indecisively, blushing furiously, again.

Carolyn eyed him sternly, “Tell him, Martin.”

***

“You all right, Martin?”

There was the faintest hint of concern hiding, though really well, under the usual tone of amused boredom.

“Fine. Fine. Fine. Fine.”

Douglas raised a laconic eyebrow and leaned closer to the captain's seat, “Almost as fine as the time Arthur killed the man who made you cry. Goodness. This will be exciting.”

“No! I am fine,” Martin squeaked, “and Arthur didn't kill him and he didn't make me cry.”

Douglas's deep rumbling baritone filled the flight deck, “ _Smoke gets in your eyes..._ ”

“Stop it, Douglas!”

“As you wish. Sir.” He stretched lazily in his seat. Martin swallowed and ignored the twitch of arousal this provoked in him. “A to Z of things you regret. Can be things you have done, or,” and Douglas's voice dropped a notch deeper into the barrel of treacle he kept for special occasions, “things you haven't.” He winked at his captain.

Oh god, thought Martin, feeling his cock stiffen.

“I'll go first,” said Douglas cheerily. “A is for alcoholism. Don't recommend that, no matter how dreadfully an ex-Mrs Richardson is behaving at the time.”

“Ah, um,” stammered Martin.

“No, R comes much later Captain. You want B. As in Bristol – diverting to, or Brummie engineers – not winding them up, or betting – never with your first officer, or Birling Day...”

“Okay, yes, fine, any of them.”

Douglas smirked. “C is for cabin address. I should never have let Carolyn talk me into that video for Mr Alyakhin. Your turn. D.”

“Douglas...”

Douglas raised both eyebrows theatrically, “Sir! Am I a regret that you do or don't have?”

“Dougl...”

The first officer interrupted, “No, scrap that question,” he said. “I would most certainly remember if you had 'had' me and it is only natural that you regret missing out before you trade in your epaulettes and head off to the rarified air of Zurich.”

Martin's skin was now scarlet everywhere above his shirt collar, and probably a good way below too, mused Douglas.

“D-D-Douglas! Don't tease me.”

The first officer's head swung significantly through 90 degrees and his dark brown eyes drank in the view. Martin, red-faced and trembling, hands gripping the controls as if his life depended on it, auburn curls tumbling out from beneath the captain's hat, blue-grey eyes staring straight-forward, bulge in trousers. Oh good...

“Martin...” Douglas was purring now and couldn't help but smile at the immediate effect it had on that delightful bulge.

The captain didn't trust himself to look at Douglas and was pretty sure he'd lost the power of comprehensible speech, but he managed to squeak “Yes?”

“We have, by now, established that I'm not exactly a stickler for safety procedures but I am well aware how potent my teasing powers can be and I wouldn't dare to unleash them while you're flying a thin metal tube at 30,000 feet. It would be one hell of a way to go, I grant you, but crashing into the French countryside would be something of an _anti_ -climax, don't you think?”

“Nggh.”

“I'll take that as a yes, shall I?” He paused for a moment. “E is for...”

***

By the time they had landed Gerti at Malta's one and only airport, the colour had faded from Martin's face and the bulge in his trousers had subsided.

As they walked towards the taxi ranks Douglas said, “Where are we staying tonight then mon capitaine?”

“Um,” Martin pulled an envelope out of his flight bag. “Oh!” he said, reading the printed out reservation.

“'Oh!'” echoed Douglas, “Is that 'Oh! I've always wanted to sleep on a beach, thank goodness Carolyn read my mind and didn't bother booking hotel rooms' or...”

“No, Douglas. It's 'Oh! Carolyn has booked us into a really nice hotel actually', though it looks like we're sharing again.”

“Really?”

“See for yourself,” Martin handed over the envelope and its contents.

“Good gracious,” said Douglas. “I wonder if this is the the first sign of the apocalypse?” He shuffled through the sheets of paper. “Oh!” he exclaimed, mimicking Martin perfectly.

“What?” said Martin wearily.

Douglas held up the sheet of A4 for Martin to read. It was a Google map printout with an arrow drawn on, and the words Zen Sushi and TELL HIM! written on it.

“Ah,” said Martin.

Douglas sighed. “If today's performance so far is anything to go by, the chances of you coherently telling me anything are lower than Arthur's chances of outwitting the microwave. Still, if Carolyn's paying for sushi it can't be all bad.”

***

Douglas had taken in enough fish to have Greenpeace threatening to board him. Martin had let Douglas steer him to the tastiest dishes and for the first time in a long while didn't feel remotely hungry. The bill had been paid and a heavy silence now hung over the table. Martin was biting his lip and refusing to meet Douglas's eyes. Douglas was taking advantage of this to study his young captain.

He looked a little unworldly – his small feline blue-grey eyes hiding beneath his brow, his cheekbones apparently designed by someone who'd heard that prominent cheekbones were attractive, but who had never actually seen any, his blossoming bottom lip overcompensating for his thin upper lip, deeply notched with a Cupid's bow. His auburn hair fell in errant curls across his forehead and it took every ounce of Douglas's strength not to brush them with his fingertips. He couldn't say exactly when he had started to fall for his captain, but it was too late now. Like Alice, he had tumbled down the rabbit hole and could only hope for a soft landing.

“Shall we walk back to the hotel? It's a lovely evening.”

Martin looked up for the briefest of moments, dropped his gaze and nodded.

***

They walked for a quarter of an hour in silence and were only five minutes from the hotel when Douglas stopped to lean on the railings above the beach. Martin stood awkwardly at his side.

“Come on, Martin, enjoy yourself. Take in the glorious Mediterranean sea, feel the warm breeze on your face. Relax.”

Martin did his best to relax onto the railings. It wasn't very good.

Douglas decided to put him out of his misery. “So, what does Carolyn want you to tell me?”

“I think,” said Martin quietly, “she wants me to tell you I'm going to Swiss Air in June.”

Douglas felt a weight drop deep into his gut. He forced a smile to his face, “Congratulations! The world is about to become your oyster.”

“You needn't worry about MJN,” said Martin, “Herc's going to be helping out I think.”

“Oh, goody,” said Douglas unenthusiastically.

“Well, it's better than being unemployed, surely?”

“Marginally. Anyway, what did you mean 'you think Carolyn wanted you to tell me about SA'? Didn't she make it clear? She's not usually one to obfuscate.”

Even in the twilight, Douglas could see that red flush creeping along Martin's gorgeous cheekbones again.

“No, no, she was clear. That's definitely what she wanted me to tell you.”

Sea water noisily slapped the wall below them and three young women tottered down the hill behind them, pink with sunburn and shrieking with laughter.

“It just seems that you have something else on your mind,” said Douglas gently. “You can tell me, you know. I'd hope by now you know you can trust me.”

Martin dropped his head onto his hands and groaned.

“Martin...”

“You were right, okay?” He could hear Douglas smiling, but didn't dare raise his head.

“Well, that hardly narrows it down does it?”

It would have been asking too much for Douglas to make this easy, he knew that, but still...

Douglas slid himself along the rail, closer to Martin, but not touching him.

“What, exactly, was I right about?”

Face still buried, Martin closed his eyes and took a deep breath, “About me regretting … not telling you … not, not, ah fuck it!”

Douglas felt his chest constrict with emotion and ran his thumb along what little of Martin's cheek was visible. He felt his captain tremble at the touch and a ragged sigh escaped the young man's lips. He slid closer still, until their arms were just pressed together and gently prised Martin's head from his forearms.

Martin still couldn't look at him. Douglas ran his thumb back down Martin's cheek and brushed it over those luscious lips, before propping up Martin's chin to prevent him hiding again.

He chose his tone carefully, the slightest hint of mockery and it would all fall apart...

“Martin,” he said softly, “Is this your way of saying you'd like to take me to Duxford Air Museum?”

Martin yelped and flushed and finally opened his eyes, “No! Well, yes, but no.”

“I wonder how the microwave and Arthur are getting on,” Douglas murmured. He leaned in closer to Martin and whispered huskily in his ear, “Hey chief, I might be wrong, but I think you fancy the pants off me. This makes me feel … tremendously horny. One thing we could do is go back to the hotel and take some clothes off. How does that sound to...” He didn't get to finish the question because Martin pressed his lips to Douglas's mouth and kissed him softly.

Douglas smiled into the kiss and stretched his hand to caress Martin's face. Martin made a soft moan and kissed harder, opening his mouth to flick his tongue between Douglas's lips. Martin had a hand fisting in Douglas's hair now and Douglas had turned and was pulling Martin closer with his other hand. Heat was bleeding through their clothes and that wasn't the only thing they could feel. Douglas groaned as Martin's hard cock brushed against his and he somehow found the willpower to break off the kiss and whisper, his voice thick with desire, in Martin's ear, “I think we should find somewhere a little more private, don't you?”

Martin nodded, robbed of speech by lust and the utterly delicious surprise of Douglas's reciprocity.

Douglas kissed him once more and led him up the hill towards the hotel.

***

The moment Martin pushed the bedroom door shut, Douglas stepped towards him, encased his face in his hands and kissed him as if the world were about to end. Walking back to the hotel his mind had been stuck in a loop of genuine surprise that someone as awkward and inexperienced as Martin could be such a naturally gifted kisser. He wondered if the man had other hidden talents and felt his cock twitch in anticipation.

Now, though, all rational thought was gone. He was lost in the tumbling pleasure of Martin's hot, sensuous kiss. He ran his fingers through those beautiful auburn locks and felt Martin's hands fisting his shirt into bunches.

He slid one hand down to Martin's waist and felt his captain grind against him in response. Douglas growled with pleasure and started to unbutton Martin's shirt. Martin mirrored him, his usual gawkyness banished as his fingers flew down the front of Douglas's shirt.

As Martin's smooth, shapely chest was bared Douglas dipped his head to run his tongue along a collarbone and kiss and nip at the pale creamy flesh of Martin's throat. Martin replied by sucking and licking Douglas's nipples, provoking a rumbled “Christ!” and Douglas pulled him to the bed. They tumbled on to the covers, toed off their shoes and Douglas wrestled himself on top.

He licked his lips wolfishily and drank in the debauched sight of his captain, half-naked, porcelain skin flushed with desire, kiss-bruised lips, pupils blown and dark with lust. “Well,” he drawled, toasted chocolate voice at its thickest, “aren't you just a gift to a sky god.”

He leaned forward and traced a line with his tongue from Martin's chest to his bellybutton. He paused and sat back to admire the sight of his captain starting to fall apart and continued drawing the line with one finger while unbuckling Martin's belt and unzipping his trousers with his other hand.

Martin moaned and arched his back, struggling to reach Douglas and achieve some friction on his cock.

“Is there something I can do for _Sir_?” said Douglas, slowly licking his lips.

“D-D-Douglas, please!”

Douglas grinned and slid Martin's trousers and pants off, enjoying the lurch of arousal in his abdomen that the sight of Martin's cock produced. The boy was unlucky in so many ways that Douglas had lost count, but not here. It was hard and heavy, long and wide, and oozing pre-cum. All for me, thought Douglas, I am – as usual – such a lucky boy.

He shifted down the bed and ran his tongue from the base of Martin's cock to the tip, enjoying the musky scent of Martin and the strangled groan from his lover's throat.

He lapped at the pre-cum, ignoring Martin's moans and futile attempts to brush his shaft against Douglas's arm.

“Douglas, please,” he moaned, “I need … more.”

“Certainly … Sir,” and Douglas slipped the tip of Martin's cock into his mouth. He was rewarded with a blissful sigh from Martin and moved to accommodate more of the shaft, swirling his tongue along the length and revelling in the moans and groans this produced.

Douglas was pleased to note that, like riding a bicycle, giving a blowjob was not a skill one lost through lack of recent use. He flickered his tongue, snakelike, against the tip again and felt Martin arch off the bed with pleasure as he came, panting and shuddering. Douglas lapped at his softening cock before finally releasing it and licking his lips lavisciously.

Martin lay undone and beautiful beneath him, the sight making his own erection almost painfully hard.

Martin opened his eyes, took in the sight of his first officer's dark, lust-filled eyes, wet, swollen lips and distended trousers. He smiled shyly and beckoned Douglas up the bed.

In a moment they were both naked and Martin had his hand encircling Douglas' cock, giving long, slow strokes that pulled long, low moans from the older man's mouth.

“What shall we do with you, First Officer Richardson?” he murmured.

“Anything you want, Captain,” Douglas growled.

“Hmm, well I didn't come prepared for _anything_ , so that will have to be a pleasure for another day.” He bent and nipped at the flesh below Douglas's collarbone before climbing atop and rolling Douglas on to his back.

He tightened his grip on Douglas's cock and started to move his hand faster, rutting his semi-erect cock into the warm gap between Douglas's thighs at the same time.

“Christ alive,” rumbled Douglas. He gave himself up to the sight of Martin riding him triumphantly and fucked his captain's hand urgently and needily until he came with a sigh and white fireworks blurred his vision for a moment.

***

When Douglas opened his eyes again Martin was dropping a towel to the floor and sidling under the covers. He didn't meet Douglas's gaze and hid beneath the sheets, with a muttered, “Night.”

Douglas cleared his throat. “It is protocol, Captain, to give your lover a kiss goodnight, no matter whether you intend there to be a repeat performance in the future or not. And I was hoping to hold you to your promise of further pleasures, so... ”

Martin turned over and peeked out at Douglas. “You want to do it again?”

“That's what I said, wasn't it?”

Douglas could just see the flush of pink creeping along Martin's cheekbones as this thought was digested. Martin pulled the covers off his face, slid one hand into Douglas's hair and gave him another long, sensuous kiss.

“Douglas?”

“Yes, Martin?”

“Are you doing anything tomorrow night?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Oh,” said Martin utterly failing to hide his disappointment.

After a minute, Douglas said, “Don't you want to know what I'm doing tomorrow night?”

“Yes, sorry, rude of me,” muttered Martin.

Douglas pulled Martin close and wrapped an arm around him. “I'm taking my Captain out to dinner and then letting him take me to bed.”

“Oh!” said Martin.

Douglas kissed him and smiled. “Get some sleep. You won't be getting much tomorrow night.”

Martin grinned, kissed him and snuggled into Douglas's shoulder. “Goodnight, Douglas.”

“Goodnight, oh Captain, my Captain.”


End file.
